First Time
by The innocent and the young
Summary: "Ah, well I've never been one for following orders. I'd like to offer you choice Natasha, that doesn't involve running anymore or drying..." Both Natasha and Clint are dealing with firsts. First meetings, first names, first times. Shall be 4-6 chapters, not to sure yet. Natasha/Clint. Rated for language.
1. First Meeting

**Hello! So this is my first ever Avenger fanfiction, so I apologise in advance if the characters are ooc. This wasn't BETA's because I just kinda couldn't be bothered, so I'm again sorry for any mistakes. **

**I own nothing, which is an awful shame because the Avengers are awesome! **

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He'd been sent to kill, the first time they met. One of his arrows pointed at her chest, as she pointed her gun at his. So maybe he should have expected it to be the way it was, weapons out and no stop to chat. Strike before you ask, seemed to be her way to go. But Clint was interested in striking, he wanted to talk and to talk, he had to stay alive.

In the time he'd been watching her, there'd been many opportunities to strike and kill, but every time one had appeared, he just couldn't bring himself to lose the arrow. It had taken him a while to figure out why. The Black Widow didn't give anyone the opportunity to kill her, she knew he was there and she was giving him the chance, almost as if she _wanted _him to strike.

Even now as the stared each other down, the opportunity was there, just staring him in the face. It was it mission. _Kill the Black Widow. _Simple. But there was something her eyes; he could see it as he looked at her. It was well hidden, Hawkeye would give her that, but once he saw it he couldn't forget it. She was running. And she was tired of it. The Black Widow wanted out, and was waiting for Hawkeye to serve the ending strike.

"What's your name?" he asked casually, eyes still trained on her face. He saw her shock and confusion mingled together, though she hid it well. For a few minutes she didn't talk, just looked at him, and Clint was just beginning to think he'd have to take her in and introduce her as the Black Widow, which, while he may have found the reaction amusing, he doubted anyone else would.

"Natasha Romanoff." She muttered, her voice tinged slightly with a Russian accent. For the first time since Natasha had entered the room and found him hiding, she lowered her gaze to the floor, her red hair falling in front of her face. When she looked up again, she was greeted by a grinning face and an arrow a few millimetres away from her heart.

"Pleasure to meet you Natasha, I'm Clint Barton." In his mind there was no question about what he was going to do. SHIELD had saved him, had given him a second chance when he'd done things just as bad as her, maybe not to the same scale, but still bad. They'd both killed for a job; they both had red in an unmarked ledger. If he could be given a second chance, why couldn't the Russian be as well? A killer like her wasn't born; she was made, and could be unmade as well. "I was sent here to kill you, I'm sure you know that. But, I've given it some thought, and I don't think I will."

"Wont your boss be angry? Director Fury doesn't seem to like it when Agents don't follow orders, and I'm clearly a threat that needs to be taken out." Natasha said, though she couldn't deny that part of her was interested in why he didn't want to kill her, what he wanted.

"Ah well I've never been one for following orders. I'd like to offer you choice Natasha, that doesn't involve running anymore or drying..."

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_Thoughts and opinions are welcome. Thanks for y'know, reading. _


	2. First Names

**A/N- Okay so there's a little bit of time jump, maybe like 6 months or so. It's longer then the previous chapter too, so maybe that's a plus? I don't know. So yeah, enjoy. **

**I still own nothing but a lot of books and pens. **

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"Shit Nat!" Could you at least try to be gentle?" Clint all but shouted at his partner stood by his side examining his wound.

"I'll be gentle when you stop getting shot at, especially a shot meant for me. And don't call me that." She grumbled. The bullet wound wasn't that bad, through and through, minimal damage but a fair amount of blood. The nickname he'd given her was beginning to annoy her, though she couldn't decide if it was just because she'd never had one before.

"That's what partners do. Don't tell me I have to explain the whole partner thing again."

"Shut up, Barton."

For a while they were both silent. Natasha working on his arm, cleaning the wound and _trying_ not to hurt him, though she would admit she wasn't trying that hard, Clint winced every now and again, but he didn't speak, just held in the curses he was dying to say. When she was done wrapping up his shoulder she sat down next to him. Keeping a safe distance between them both, no touching limbs or even brushing of skin.

This was their sixth mission together, and while she'd grown use to him being there, to his constant sarcasm and commentary on missions, she still wasn't use to the idea of him having her back. Of him being willing to take a hit for her, the whole idea of having a partner was as foreign to her as an American was in Russia. For not the first time, she wondered how she'd ended up like this. One day she'd been the Black Widow, a hired killer on the run from the people who'd made her, and then the next she was the Black Widow, a partner and doing 'good'.

"You didn't need to it, you shouldn't have done it. But I...well...thank you. But don't do it again Barton." Natasha said, not feeling at all comfortable with the slight softness in her voice or the words she was speaking. When did she become found of him and his life?

"You can call me Clint, y'know. It is my mane after all." He said the slightest hint of a smile on his face. "And I can't promise I won't get shot again. It's what partners do, have each other's backs. Take a shot when it needs to be done. I'm sure you'd take a bullet for me, one day at least." Clint finished. It was strange how much faith he had in the woman. It almost worried him how much faith he had in her, it wasn't like he knew all that much about her, but yet he couldn't help but trust her. Many people had questioned him about it, about trusting the famous Black Widow with his life when she was known better for taking them, and every time he'd answer the same. '_To have someone's trust, you have to earn it.' _

"How are you so sure about that?" she asked quietly, eyes on her hands intertwined on her lap.

"Because I trust you. Strange, I know, but I do."

"Such blind faith blind faith in a killer can get you killed Barton." Natasha replied.

"You're not a killer anymore, Nat. I mean, sure you kill, but only when it needs to be done, you're not a killer, you're a spy." Clint said simply.

Natasha stood up from the bed, busying her hands with putting away all the medical supplies she'd used.

"You should sleep. We've not finished the job yet."

The sudden subject change didn't shock him anymore. He was use to it. Clint knew she was bad with the idea of trust, of the sudden change in her lifestyle, hell she was bad with the whole idea of emotions in general. But he was working on it, one day she wouldn't feel like hiding behind her mask when it came to him.

"Are you going to sleep as well?" he asked, already stretching out on the hotel bed.

"When I'm done putting all this shit away, yes." Natasha answered, gesturing to the supplies in her arms and her discarded gear on the floor.

Clint knew she was lying, the Black Widow wouldn't sleep tonight. She rarely did. Only when it was absolutely nessercery did she close her eyes and let her mind relax. He'd heard her muttering in her sleep, fighting away whatever terrors found her in dark. But yet he let it go, knowing not to pick a battle over her sleeping patterns, as he so often did.

"G'night Natasha." He said burrowing into his make-shift nest of pillows and blankets.

"Good night...Clint." she said, testing the name on her lips. It was strange to say it instead of thinking it, what was even stranger to her was how much she liked saying his name, so different from his last name.

First names were a sign of friendship, of something more to come, of partners. She'd never had what someone would class as a friend before. She'd never needed one before, but now she was finding herself wanting one. And if she was going to have her first true friend, Natasha wouldn't mind if it was Clint Barton, even if he did insist on calling her 'Nat'. Damn the man, he was slowly finding his way into her well guarded heart and mind. First names were only the start, she knew that.

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_So yeah there's that. Thank you for all the people that like, reviewed so far, you're great! Any ideas anyone has are always welcome as well, the more ideas, the longer I'll carry on writing!_


	3. First Truths

**A/N-I'm writing these quicker then I thought I would, this fandom and characters are slightly addicting. Lill' bit of trivia here, I've never written anything for films or comic books before. **

**Never read the comics, so I don't really know much about Natasha or Clint's past, so I've kept it a little vague. Also sorry if any of it is wrong. I still own nothing, sad times. **

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The air was growing colder and colder the longer they sat outside, behind a half hidden brick wall. Natasha had long since given up crouching with a gun trained on their guarded target and Clint was no longer looking for a vantage point.

"This has got to be the worst mission we've on. And we've been on some shit missions in the past." Natasha said, stretching out her legs in front of her, trying to ride them of cramp.

"You're the one who accepted it! I was all up for taking the undercover job in Cuba." Clint said, rubbing his hands together in a weak attempt to keep them warm.

"Hey! I thought this would be quicker. There was nothing in the file about him being a paranoid dick." Natasha replied.

Nothing about the mission had gone as planned. To start with, the SHIELD supplied safe house was the worst shithole they'd been given yet, with a missing window and a hole in the roof to supply a shower after the rain. It was a five mile walk to where they needed to be and to top it off their target was constantly surrounded by body guards. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, they'd just take out the guards, but the mission was to kill the one man and no more. Which left them sitting outside his base in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night in late November.

"Yeah well, you don't get to chose the missions anymore Tasha, you're shit at it." Clint muttered, though there was a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Shut up Barton!" she said, hitting him on the arm.

The Black Widow and Hawkeye sat in a somewhat comfortable silence, each lost in thought. Clint's mind was wandering back and forth, trying to think of the best way to phrase his question for his partner. It had been two years since he'd convinced her to call him by his first name and they'd both moved on from there. Slowly gaining trust with each mission, this slowly began to form their current friendship. They could communicate with little talk and knew each other's strengths and weakness', but yet Clint still knew little about the red head, and Natasha still knew little about him.

"I never knew why you were running y'know." He said.

Natasha turned to look him, confusion on her face. "What?"

"When I was sent to kill you, but y'know, I didn't? You were running away from something, or someone. I just wondered why." He said with a shrug, his eyes never leaving her face. He'd learnt to read her face, and was waiting for something new to crop up.

She stiffened slightly, turning her face away from his staring eyes and looked out at the darkness around them. Her mind was racing at unasked question. It was true, she'd been running and had been welcoming death when he'd found her. But that had all changed and he was bringing it up again, their unspoken forbidden topic. Natasha stayed silent, refusing to turn her face towards him, refusing to let him see anything new. She'd be damned it she gave anything away. He had no right to know about her past.

"I was a hired gun before SHILED found me. I willingly killed people, killed anyone anyone would ask me to, so long as there was money in it for me. I killed families; I destroyed families, ruined business and lives. I never liked it, but what choice did I have? My brother had gone, left me to fend for myself, no family, no home, and no job. I had nothing. I had two options, to go back to the circus and I couldn't go back there. I refused to put up with all the shit that came with it again, so I did all I could. I killed so I could go on living. Then SHILED popped up, and knew everything about me, knew all I had done and all I hadn't. They found me and I thought that was it. I was done and they were going to kill me for all I'd done, but they didn't." Clint paused in his story, letting a small almost sarcastic laugh out as he remembered everything.

"They said they could offer me a way out, that they were giving me the choice to join them. At first I wasn't sure, y'know, this whole mighty organisation that could have anyone they wanted, and here they, wanting me to join them. They only take the best. It was nice to be considered 'the best'. I got given missions; I got to chose what I wanted to do, if I wanted to kill. Slowly I wasn't just one of the best; I wasn't just another Agent that liked to use a bow instead of a gun. I became The Best they had. Even if I didn't always follow orders." When Clint finished he was lost in thoughts of the past, of everything he'd done, to his circus days and the time alone. He didn't notice Natasha looking at him with an odd look on her face.

'_Why is he telling me all this?'_ It didn't take her long to answer her own question. He was telling her about his life, even if she wouldn't say anything in return, and he didn't expect her to. He never would.

"My parents died in a fire, my whole family was gone before I was even older enough to really understand what the word meant." She started slowly, choosing her words carefully. She'd never spoken about her past, never told anyone about her life.

"A man found me, in the middle of all the chaos. He...he chose me. He asked me if I wanted to go with him, he said I'd be safe, so I said yes. He took me away. I still don't know why he chose me of all the girls in Russia, but he did. They unmade me and reshaped me. Taught me to do all I can do, made me into who I am. You didn't have friends in the Red Room, you didn't show emotion, you didn't care or do wrong, if you did, you'd be punished. If you made friends, they'd make you kill them. I was so young when they took me, I wanted to please them. I did all they asked." She slowed down, frowning a little her own memories surfacing in her mind. All the nightmares she tried to fight at night.

"But...as I got older, as they made me do more horrific things with each passing year, I started to question it. Question them. Then one day they told me to kill this man, to use my skill set and kill him, even if his family saw. Kill the man, no one else. I saw him with his daughter, both happy, not knowing I was told to destroy it all. And I couldn't. So I didn't. I wanted to make my own choices, I wanted to let someone live with his daughter or kill because I wanted to. So I didn't go back that night, I left.

But they didn't like that. You can't leave the ones who made you...when you found me...well it was only a matter of time before they found me as well and they would have killed me. I was done. I was ready for you to shoot an arrow at my chest, at my heart, hell I let you have the chance again and again. I was done. Or I thought I was. You were the first person to give me a choice, y'know. I owe you debt for that." She said finally turning her face to look at the archers shocked face.

He hadn't expected her to open up so much, hell he hadn't even expected her to say anything at all. But as he looked at her, for the first time since he'd known her he could see exactly what she'd been hiding for years. How she'd felt, what she'd been through, how much red she truly had in her ledger. What kind of life and childhood she'd had.

Unconsciously he moved a little closer to her, so that their shoulders were touching. There wasn't anything he could say or even do, so did all he could think to do. Slowly Clint reached out and took one of her cold hands in his and gave it a small squeeze. Natasha didn't move or pull away, so Clint took it as a sign for him to hold on to her a little longer. It wasn't much, but it was more then she'd allowed before.

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_Let me know what you thought, all types of reviews are wanted, even if it's to tell me everything is crap! Thank you darlings :)_


	4. First Torture

**A/N- This is short and quick, could also be a little confusing, if so I'm sorry. I'm not good with describing fights and stuff, so I kinda skimmed over it lightly. Again, sorry. On the plus side, I know exactly what's gonna happen in the next 2-3 chapters. **

**Still own nothing unfortunately. But oh well. Enjoy.**

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The knife was drawn across her skin, leaving a thin trail of blood in its wake were the skin was broken.

"Are you ready to talk yet Agent Romanoff, or do we have to draw this out some more?" the grey haired man asked, standing in front of her, the knife gripped in his hand and a small sadistic smile lingering on his face.

I can do this all day." Natasha replied in her clam tone, not letting a single emotion show on her face, the Black Widow mask perfectly in place. In her head however, she was loudly cursing Clint for getting them caught and in this mess. She wouldn't be having her skin cut open if it wasn't for him. From across the near empty room, Clint was struggling against the binds on his hands, his eyes never leaving Natasha.

Blood was dropping to the floor from a gash in her leg and more was trailing from her forearm and shoulder. A bruise was beginning to show on her cheek, standing out from her skin, holes in her black tights showed scrapes from her previous fight with the men, the tare in her dress was further evidence of the result. Clint inwardly cringed as the man pulled the knife back again through her skin, letting more blood join the floor.

"Tell me about SHIELD and we will let you and your...partner go."

Natasha caught Clint's eye, they both knew that wasn't true. Neither of them would be leaving alive unless they killed the men and called for an immediate extraction. Neither of them said anything, they didn't need to, it was a silent communication. One of them took the pain while the other got out.

"Very well. Bring him. I want her to watch as we make him bleed and scream."

Two men, which looked to be built only of muscle stood on either side of Clint, hauling him to his feet and none-too gently began pushing him towards their boss. Clint stumbled a little as he stood in front of the grey haired man and Tasha, trying to say sorry with only his eyes. Natasha glared in response.

Metal cut through his skin, red droplets fell to the floor in front of his eyes. Again and again he felt the cool steal kiss his skin, ripping more and more of it open, letting the red escape and pain set in. No sound left his lips, no sign on emotion on his face or eyes. It wasn't the first time he'd been tortured, and this defiantly wasn't his worst experience, he just had to last till Natasha was free of her rope. Fists connected with his face, his jaw and eye, his stomach and chest. Leather covered hand on bare open flesh. _Anytime now would be great Natasha, _he wanted to say, wanted to look up at her. But he couldn't. So his eyes stayed on the brick floor, watching his blood slowly dry.

Part of her wanted to wait a little longer before she acted, but as the first drops of Clint's blood hit the floor, she did her job. Twisting out of the ropes holding her wasn't the hard part; taking out the two thugs stood in front of her without the other man noticing was her issue. Normally, her archer would take them out with a single arrow each. But her archer was currently being beaten, leaving it to her. Natasha made short work of the first man, the second man only noticing the disturbance when the first hit the floor with a short thud. She used the man's confusion to her advantage, throwing first one punch and then another at his face, dodging his careless fists coming at her in return.

The sound of the second mad hitting the floor made a louder sound, getting the attention of the man still attempting to beat information from Clint. He whirled, pointing the knife in front of him, looking from the bodies on the floor to Natasha glaring at him. If Clint hadn't just been used as the man's punch bag, he might have felt sorry for him. However, given the state he was in because of said man, Clint was all too happy to let Tasha deal with him.

"You could have gotten us both killed you know." Natasha said to him, it wasn't a question, but a fact.

"But I didn't." Clint pointed out, wincing as he moved his right arm up. "shit." He muttered more to himself then her.

"Next time, keep your eyes open Hawkeye, I'd hate to have to file a request for a new partner. It would be a pain to replace you." She said, though Clint could swear he saw a look of concern flash through her eyes.

"Is that a hint of fondness I sense Widow?" he teased.

"Shut it Barton, I'd hate to hurt you more then you already are."

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_So yeah, not my best oh well. I just felt like they couldn't have sex till they'd seen each other shed blood. __That being said, I know exactly what's happening in the next chapter. _

_Can I suggest you watch this! watch?v=cvK2FeaJQFA This is basically the inspiration for the next 1/2 chapters. _


	5. First Song

**A/N- All inspiration for this came from that video link at the end of the last chapter (Jeremy Renner singing American Pie) I'm kinda addicted to the song as well. Thank you too all reviews! You're all wonderful and deserve cookies. I'm rather proud of this chapter and I hope it makes up for the slightly crap on last time. **

**Still own nothing, not even the song. -dramatic sigh- Enjoy!**

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"Next we have ... err Clint Barton singing...American Pie!" a skinny dark haired boy said into the microphone, stood in the centre of the small make-shift stage, grinning at the mixed group of people in the bar.

Natasha looked up from her half empty glass as Clint stumbled onto the stage grinning like an idiot. She tried to suppress a groan as she watched him, though a small smile toyed on her lips. Twisting around in her chair so she was facing the stage, she caught Clint's eye, who proceeded to grin and wink at her.

"Oh boy." She mumbled into the glass, taking a sip. In her head there were many ways this could play out, judging by the way he was walking, she assumed he was drunk, though she knew he'd not had more than her. Or so she'd thought, though perhaps he just couldn't hold his drink as well she'd thought. The thought of him falling head first off the stage was mildly amusing in her mind, till she remembered it would be her having to haul him to his feet and dragging him back to their shared hotel room. She didn't even know if he could sing! The man had to be drunk; there was no other explanation or sane reason for it.

Clint cleared his throat as he approached the microphone, nodding at the young boy as he passed.

"Good luck!" he said.

"I'd like to dedicate this song to my red headed partner over there." He said, trying to slur his words together and waving his arm around in the general direction of Natasha, all to keep the illusion of being drunk. Oh how she'd want to kill him for this, he knew!

Wiping his hands on his well worn jeans, Clint took a deep breath trying to calm his unknown nerves, before nodding at the guy in charge of music. Here goes nothing, he thought.

As the music started up, Natasha was ever so slightly tempted to walk out and leaver her seemingly drunken partner, but curiously got the better of her. She _really _did want to know what his voice was like. She watched him take deep breath, like he sometimes did before a tricky shot. Around the room she could see other women leaning forward in anticipation, staring up at him with gleaming eyes. Under the cheap stage lights he did look kinda nice, Natasha would admit.

"_A long, long time ago,__I can still remember how that music used to make me smile.__And, I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance, and...__Maybe they'd be happy for a while_" Clint started slowly eyes looking downward for a few seconds as the lyrics swam before his eyes.

"_Maybe they'd be happy for a while. But, February made me shiver with every paper I'd deliver_,_bad news on the doorstep - I couldn't take one more step"_

Natasha was pleasantly surprised by his voice, having only ever heard him screaming songs out in the shower; the voice that left him now was so different it was a shock. A smile crept on to her face as she watched him pick up the song and get into it.

"_I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride.__Something touched me deep inside the day the music died__._" He could see Natasha smiling, a sign of surprise in her eyes though she hid it well. As the song came around for the chorus, Clint moved to take the microphone out of the stand, holding it in his hands.

"_So, bye, bye Miss American Pie.__Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...__This'll be the day that I die.__This'll be the day that I die__" _he sang, beginning to walk off the stage, making his way to where Natasha was sat, lips pursed to stop the smile form taking over her face. God how he loved it when she smiled!

"_Did you write the Book of Love and do you have faith in God, above?__If the Bible tells you so. __Now, do you believe in Rock and Roll?" _He pretended to play air guitar, now only 5 steps away from the circler table Tasha was sat at. "_Can music save your mortal soul?"_ hands grasped out in front of him, the microphone held between them both, directed at her.

Natasha was having trouble keeping her face straight by now, everything in her wanted to laugh at the archer, who no longer seemed to be drunk, if he ever was. Clint knew what he was doing to her, knew how much she longed to laugh at his antics, and wouldn't stop till she had.

"_Can you teach me how to dance real slow?_" Clint was her table now, a hand reaching down to pull her from her chair.

"Clint!" she squealed, surprising herself. She never squealed! And it didn't escape Clint's notice, a grin was already on his face as he swayed them back and forth in his fucked up attempt at a slow dance.

"_Well, I know that you're in love with him, 'cause I saw you dancing in the gym__. __You both kicked off your shoes - man, I dig those rhythm and blues__._" He released his hold on her hand, bending his back slightly to look up at her, still grinning.

"_I __was a lonely, teenage broncin' buck with a pink carnation and a pickup truck, but, I knew I was out of luck the day the music died__._" Around him people were cheering, which Clint found a little odd, they didn't know him or Natasha, and yet they were supporting his attempts at 'wooing' her. It almost made him laugh.

Tasha gave up trying not to smile at him, it was hard not to. Everything about his performance was entertaining, funny, adorable and just _so_ Clint Barton. It was the kind of smile she rarely showed, no mask, nothing forced, a true smile that reached her eyes and made them shine a little. It was a smile that Clint had only ever seen once when she was truly happy and would try his damned hardest to see anytime he could. It was a smile that Clint loved.

"_I started singing, bye bye Miss American Pie." _He was stood in front of her again now, singing only to her._ "__Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.__Them good ol' boys were drinking whiskey and rye, singing...__This'll be the day that I die.__This'll be the day that I die_" when he finished his breath hit her face, the smell of peppermint and alcohol mixing together, a smile on his face as he watched her reaction.

"I didn't know you could sing." She said, not knowing what else to say. Her head was spinning slightly and she was finding it hard to breath with the little space between them. This wasn't like all the other times she'd been close to a man; there was nothing false between her and Clint, no secrets or lies, just them. Almost pure and true.

"Ya learn something new every day." He replied his breathing returning to normal, but still smiling, almost as if he couldn't stop. Natasha couldn't help it, she carried on smiling too. No other man she'd met would make a fool of himself like that just to make her smile.

"Want to get out of here?" Clint asked, nodding to the door.

Natasha nodded, not waiting for further discussion. Taking the microphone from his hand and passing it to one of the many people stood around them, with one hand she picked up her jacket and bag and with the other she grabbed Clint's hand and began pulling him towards the door. Clint went willingly not caring where she was pulling him to...

**TBC**

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_dun dun dun! aha no. But there, next chapter shall be soon! Shall the have sex or shall they just wander the streets and get to know each other some more? That is the question I shall leave you all the ponder. _


	6. First Kiss

_Before you read can I first just say- I'm sorry about how long this has taken me to post! College started and life just started getting a little hectic, but I'll try and get the last few chapters out soon as. On another note! I know that Natasha may seem a bit out of character, which I can't explain so I'm sorry about that! _

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Natasha didn't exactly know where they were going. It was a foreign city, or as foreign as England got to an 'ex'-Russian and an American. They'd been sent on a mission to take out some arms dealer and his group, and had finished much quicker than expected. Giving them two days free. So they'd decided to stick around and see some sights, after all, when would they get to visit England again? Instead they spent the night in a bar, drinking and in Clint's case, singing.

"Where are we even going, Nat?" Clint asked following the red head down one of the dark streets of the city, people rushed walked past them, some drunk, some trying to keep a drunken friend stable.

"I have no idea!" she said, a gleeful tone to her voice Clint had never heard her use before. He decided he liked this relaxed, almost carefree, Natasha.

"Maybe I should sing to you more often." He muttered to himself, but she heard him all the same.

"Yes, perhaps you should. Though maybe not so publicly." Natasha replied, she herself didn't know what had gotten into her. It wasn't the alcohol; she could hold her drink perfectly fine and was proud of how much she could drink. She wanted to blame it on Clint for singing and making her feel something other than nothing, for making her smile, truly and genuinely smile. Or maybe she could blame it on the strange static-y air around them, spur of the moment thought brought on by the feeling of something new and one time only.

For a while they walked in silence together, side by side, shoulders bumping every now and again, hands brushing involuntary but not stopping them. They just looked around them, watched the lights on signs change, the funny patterns the bright colours made on the wet tarmac.

Clint was used the silence to look at this partner, to see the subtle difference in her outside of the bar and mission all-together. She seemed calmer, less tension in her body, but still watchful. Always on guard. To a stranger she would have looked like any other middle-class woman walking down the street that night, cautious but unaware. The image was, however, ruined if they saw the gun attached at her hip or noticed the slight bulge at her ankle were her knife was hidden. Just you average midnight walk with an armed assassin. Clint could have laughed.

"Fancy a stroll through the park, mi lady?" he asked instead, giving her a small mocking bow with an arm outstretched for you.

Tasha raised a questioning eyebrow at his, one side of her lips curving up slightly in a small smirk.

"Why dear sir, I would be my pleasure." She said, taking his offered arm. Natasha didn't know why she was going along with Clint's strange façade, it wasn't like her, but for once she felt like dropping the Black Widow mask and to just be Natasha, just for a short while.

"You ever been to England before?" Clint asked, shooting her a sideways glance as they walked. The park was empty, the only light coming from the black street lights every half a mile. The clusters of trees around them did a good job of blocking out the overcast night sky.

"No, have you?" she replied, becoming more away that she was still holding on to his arm. It almost made her smile. Almost. Not quite though. Clint stopped in front of a bench, dry from the protection of the trees around it. A small plack on the wood said it was dedicated to a man who's spent half his life planting the trees in the park.

"Do you think ...Mr Alkin will mind us using his bench? He asked.

"Don't think there's much he can do, considering his dead." Tasha said sitting down on the cool wood.

"And no, no I haven't been here before. Me and Barney talked about it once. Leaving a trying for a fresh start here or anywhere really. Never happened though, obviously." Clint sighed a little as he sat next to her, their shoulders bumping slightly.

"Before or after you joined the circus?"

"What?"

"When you talked about leaving and making a fresh start, before or after you joined the circus?" Natasha asked again, turning her head slightly to look at him.

"Oh. Before and after I guess, we talked about running away a lot to begin with." Clint admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's a beautiful place for somewhere so busy. A mixture of old and new." Natasha commented, her eyes on the sky now, following the clouds as they hid stars.

"I know a person just like that." He said, glancing at her. A stray curl had fallen into her face and, acting on some unknown instinct, Clint's hand moved to tuck it back behind her ear. His fingers graved the soft skin of her cheek.

"You know a lot of people Barton." She said back, tilting her head to look at him quizzically.

"Sorry..." Clint said suddenly feeling self conscious of how close he was to her, of how little room there was on the bench. He hadn't felt so conscious of his actions in so long, not when it came to a woman, especially not this woman. Never Natasha, because what did he have to worry about with her?

It was by pure coincidence that he leaned forward when she did, just slightly, just enough to leave nothing but a few inches between them. Clints hand was still lingering on her cheek, not quite touching her skin. Natasha could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath, remnants of the time spent in the bar, could see the colour of his eyes, a storm coloured blue she's never really noticed before. In a moment of unknown force they moved together, lips meeting and moving like they'd done it many times before. It was short and sweet and simple. Nothing exciting, nothing passionate or tempting, it was simply the first kiss of many secrets.

* * *

_Again, sorry it took so long and sorry about the ooc-ness of Natasha and Clint. Let me know what you think and everything yeah. Thank you lovelies! _


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